Perhaps not losing something after all
by Purple01Writing
Summary: After Fuji's match with Tezuka, he felt desolate. Tezuka needed to tell him something had changed, but not for the worse. Perfect Pair.


"Game and match, won by Tezuka, 7-6!"

To Tezuka's surprise, when he looked at Fuji, he saw tears. For a brief instant, in that moment, his instincts shrieked that _he wipe them away now, it was his own fault, help him!_

"Fuji," he murmured, unaware of the crowd watching them tensely.

Fuji smiled brittlely, making no move to wipe away the tears cascading down his cheeks. "I feel horrible," he replied just as softly.

It was unneeded to say the rest.

_If this is what losing feels like…but it feels wonderful too. _

To bring their attention from each other to the rest surrounding them, the spectators began to clap. Fuji and Tezuka looked around, startled. For the time that they were playing, they had completely forgotten that they were being watched. They had _**seen**_ each other, seen who they could be, _seen who they were…_

**Together.

* * *

**

Fuji was the last one in the clubroom, tying his shoelaces. Eiji had offered to wait, but sensing that the energetic redhead wanted to spend some time with Oishi, Fuji had smiled and told him to go on.

"_Game and match, won by Tezuka!"_

He felt lonely, something that seemed to be happening so much more often. His lips twisted in a bitter smile: even Yuuta had noticed and said something.

"Fuji."

Startled, he looked at the door. Tezuka stood there, framed by the light of the setting sun, waiting.

For a moment, Fuji felt the feel of tears coming to his eyes again. He veiled his eyes with his lids, grateful for that small blessing.

He tilted his head back to his shoelaces, worrying the white pieces of cord, until he was surprised by the feeling of cool fingers sliding under his chin. "Fuji, look at me."

He opened his eyes, grateful that those tears were gone, and locked gazes with Tezuka's gentle stare. "What is it, Tezuka?" he said lightly. "Isn't it rather late?"

"Fuji, we could play again."

Sometimes, Tezuka was too damn perceptive.

"What would it accomplish?" he said just as lightly as before, but he knew Tezuka caught that slight hint of bitterness behind his words. "After all, a chance like this won't come again for a bit."

Tezuka dropped his hand, and Fuji's skin burned where Tezuka had touched it. "Fine," he said quietly—_sadly?_—and left.

Fuji watched him go, a solo tear sliding down again.

* * *

Tezuka walked from the train to his home, wrapped up in his thoughts. Fuji had looked too desolate in the clubroom, and he wished suddenly that he had insisted on walking the other boy home. He looked down at his hand—his fingers still tingled from the slide of electricity against Fuji's skin.

He had wished, back at school, that he could have embraced the other boy, that his quiet pride would let him. As he let himself in, he could not forget the look of utter misery that had crossed Fuji's face when he saw him calling for Fuji.

"_Game and match, won by Tezuka."_

Is it unnatural, he wondered as he greeted his mother, that a win doesn't feel like a win at all?

* * *

Fuji sat on the windowsill, watching the stars appear one by one in the chilly spring night. He felt uncomfortable, but not so uncomfortable that he would need to pull on an over garment.

"Syuusuke? Did something happen today?" Yumiko inquired gently from the doorway.

Fuji found his shoulders shaking, and as he turned, he found he had misjudged the distance, and fell onto his bedroom floor. Yumiko rushed to his side, and propped him up on her shoulder. He buried his face on the top of her collarbone, like he had when he was a child, and cried until he thought his heart was breaking.

_Perhaps it was.

* * *

_

As Tezuka placed down his science book with a sigh, his phone buzzed. Picking it up, he found the headline reading:

**You have 1 new text message**.

Opening it, he found a short missive from Echizen.

_Buchou,_

_I won my match today._

_-Echizen_

He put his phone back on the holder, feeling disappointed for a reason unknown to him.

Fuji ignored the textbook that was on his dresser staring at him rather pointedly in favor for a detective novel Tezuka had lent him. He held the book close to his face, so that he could actually smell Tezuka, pressed onto the pages.

Tezuka always smelled of vanilla.

His phone rang, and he put down the English fiction with a sigh, and answered. "Moshi moshi?"

"Fuji."

"Tezuka. I am reading that book you lent me."

"Oh, _The Empty Chair_? Aa, Jeffery Deaver can certainly write them. Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you."

Fuji felt his pulse quicken for a reason he couldn't determine. "Yes?"

"Would you meet me at the street courts half an hour from now?"

"Tezuka, it is almost ten o'clock," he pointed out, almost in disappointment.

When Tezuka answered, there was a challenging note in his voice that had Fuji's blood heat. "Fuji, you would disappoint me if you couldn't get there."

Fuji smirked. "Tezuka, I would _hate_ to disappoint you. See you there."

* * *

Tezuka put the phone down, feeling oddly triumphant. He had won something here by challenging Fuji, and it felt…

Good.

As he stepped off the subway, he found Fuji already there, leaning against the wall adjusting the tension of his racket. As he slid the bag off of his shoulder, and did some basic warm-up stretches, he glanced at Fuji from the corner of his eye, and found the other boy mirroring him.

As they played, he noticed Fuji playing hard, his concentration unmarred.

Tezuka found he felt triumphant, that his actions had finally caused Fuji to play tennis like the graceful sport it was, instead of the flippant way Fuji played before.

* * *

Fuji felt the same desolation from before swamp him as he knelt on the court, having missed another Zero-Shiki drop shot. He looked at Tezuka's impassive face, at his eyes who watched him so carefully, and he lunged up, finally listening to his instincts and going for what he had felt like doing for the longest time.

He, Fuji Syuusuke, kissed Tezuka Kunimitsu.

* * *

Tezuka felt excitement heat his blood, and he pulled Fuji closer, abandoning racquets and tennis balls, the courtship that they had nursed since first year.

Fuji was trembling, and for that reason alone, Tezuka held him close. Fuji wrapped his legs around Tezuka's waist, bringing them to eye level. Fuji's tongue probed his mouth, and he opened willingly enough, but Tezuka took charge from there.

Fuji let him.

_Perhaps_, both boys mused as they waged war using tongues in the bright halogen light from the overhead lamps, _we didn't lose anything after all.

* * *

_The Perfect Pair muse moved in after I saw Fuji vs. Tezuka, and IT WOULD NOT LEAVE. So I wrote this, and now hopefully it has moved onto someone else. 


End file.
